


Don't Worry, Be Happy

by Hashtagmavin



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Character Death, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Psychoteeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-29 13:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hashtagmavin/pseuds/Hashtagmavin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Psychoteeth AU) Gavin Free is a manipulative psychopath. He loves to toy with his victims before brutally murdering them. Just makes it more fun. So why is Michael still alive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at hashtagmavin.tumblr.com

 

_Here’s a little song I wrote_ **  
**_You might want to sing it note for note **  
**Don’t worry, be happy_

The first thing I hear when I fade into consciousness is the sound of distant whistling. At the moment I can’t exactly place the tune, but it’s the least of my worries right now.

My head is pounding and everything feels groggy and tired. I feel like I’ve just run a marathon and collapsed on the side of the road.

My mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton and I can’t even imagine what I’d sound like if I spoke.

The cold solid ground beneath me is a reminder that I’m not in my own home. I didn’t get drunk and crash on a friend’s floor. I’m in a situation where everything is entirely out of my hands and I have no idea what’s in store for me.

I can only remember the panic when a damp cloth was placed over my mouth, the firm hand holding me in place, and the rush of exhaustion that overtook me when I gasped.

When I open my eyes the dull light that hits them makes me wince and internally curse. It sure  _feels_  like a really bad hangover.

Once my eyes painfully adjust to the light I pull myself up using my hands and elbows to steady myself. Everything aches and I don’t trust myself to not immediately fall back over once I accomplish this.

When I put my right hand to the floor for leverage, soft clinking noises reach my ears and I look down in confusion.

Sliver metal handcuffs are slinked around my wrist and the surprisingly long chain locks me to the pipe that’s slightly jutting from the wall behind me.

I blink and try to register my surroundings but it’s damn near impossible. Everything is still slightly blurry and I’m not sure if it’s just because of the bad lighting or because of my inebriated state.

Luckily my eyes begin to focus but there isn’t much to look at. The walls and floor are completely bare other than a few cracks, dirt, and what I assume is dried blood.

I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t panic or start irrationally screaming at the top of my lungs like the cliched dumb girl in a scary movie. Crying like a baby isn’t going to get me out of this situation, and it sure isn’t going to do me any good.

As my eyes adjust more I begin to make out the other person in the room, lying on the floor. I assume I was like that up until a few moments ago. She’s face down and her blonde hair is sprawled out sloppily across the floor.

I can see the slight movements in her body as she breaths, and I want to sigh of relief over the fact that I’m not stuck in a room with a dead body.

The whistling gets louder, and soft footsteps join in with it.

Once I begin to pay attention, I recognize the tune as “ _Don’t Worry be Happy_.” The usual cheery and uplifting song sounds dark, grim, and terrifying in this context.

The whistling echoes throughout the empty room when the door opens, creaking loudly.

He walks into the room, not surprised at it’s contents or even bothered in the slightest.

After walking the short distance towards me, he crouches down, his hands resting on his kneecaps and his face level to mine. I can see him clearly now, but the only thing I pay attention to is the grin that forms across his face, showing his teeth in a creepy yet somehow pleasing way.

"Hello there." he smirks, and I note the thick British accent. "Do you work here? Do you know where I am?"

Quirking an eyebrow, he gives me a confused look but the knowing smile on his lips give it away. He would sound innocent and if it wasn’t for the circumstances. You can just barely make out the sinister and mocking tone behind them.

But it’s apparent that he’s making fun of me. I’m not sure whether it’s at me in general, the situation I’m in, or the fact that he’s the one in control here.

I glare at him, not moving forward to attack him like I could easily do. I’m sure he’s expected that since he chuckles to himself in surprise, as though he’s somewhat impressed.

"I like you already."

Anywhere else but here that comment would be a compliment, and I’m sure he _means_ it as a compliment but the empty words just bounce off of me and don’t cause me to waver in my glare.

"What’s your name, love?"

I don’t respond.

He tuts with disappointment and rolls his eyes, “Stubborn, huh?”

I don’t even open my mouth to give him the satisfaction.

"Well  _I’m_  not going to be rude,” he states dramatically, “I’m Gavin. Gavin Free.”

That one sentence holds so much more than just a name. This guy is a sick and twisted murderer, and the police finding out any information about him could lead to some trouble on his part.

Telling me his name outright like this is more than just an introduction. It’s a promise that I’m not getting out of here with my life still in tact. I’m not going to have the opportunity to expose him.

Even he knows the weight of that one sentence, and simply smirks once he realizes that I’ve figured it out.

"I have ways of making you talk, love." he says slowly, as though he’s pitying me.

He reaches behind him into, what I assume is his back pocket, and comes back with a knife. Just a simple kitchen knife with a black handle and small teeth on it’s blade.

Here it comes. The torture and physical pain that comes before finally being killed off and thrown in a ditch somewhere. Maybe buried deep in the woods or thrown off of a dock and into the ocean.

Gavin looks like he knows a few places to hide a body, and I’m sure that it hasn’t been a problem for him in a long time.

He runs his finger along the knife, widening his eyes at me for a moment as though this is all so fun for him. Like he’s reading this off of a script and knows exactly how this will all play out. “Pretty sharp.” he comments lightly, “But I’m not going to hurt you.”

He always speaks as though he’s ridiculing me. The only comfort it provides is the fact that it helps ground me. His voice reminds me that I’m in this room, chained to a pipe, being grinned at by a serial killer.

If he’d just come in here sounding gruff, angry, and stereotypical it would have been so easy for my thoughts to drift away and become numb to this entire scene. To some that may be a good thing, but I don’t want to lose focus on this.

I don’t want to die, but when something like this happens to you there’s no going back. You don’t hear many success stories about people escaping murderers after being chained up in a dark room with no windows, staring their knife in the face.

I’ve accepted it. I’m going to die, and it’s probably going to be painful. But I’m not going to give in and give this asshole the pleasure of seeing me scared and terrified.

He’s not impatient. Taking as much time as he can to study my face as though he wants to watch every muscle react to his words and actions. It’s like he feeds off of fear, but the fact that I refuse to show him any only makes him more giddy and obstinate to make me speak.

"We’re going to play a little game." Gavin says, grinning madly as he does so.

I’m not sure if he’s purposely quoting those “Saw” movies or not, but the situation seems fitting regardless.

I glare at him as he backs away from me. The only noise in the room apart from my heavy breathing is the sound of his feet slowly shuffling against the dirty floor.

I’m not going to speak. I’m not going to give this sadistic freak the satisfaction of hearing me talk.

All of the anger in my eyes turns to fear and concern as I see him slowly make his way backwards towards the blonde woman lying in a heap on the floor.

He smirks at my expression and crouches down next to her.

Anything he does to this girl is going to be my fault. My lack of cooperation might be the cause of this girl’s future suffering, and I can already feel the guilt eating me alive.

The woman has long bleach blonde hair, but it’s the only part of her head that I can see because she’s lying face down on the ground. I don’t know if she’s conscious or not, but I assume Gavin’s going to soon find out.

He grabs her by the hair and pulls her head up in a way I know could have been done gentler. I can see her face now. Her eyes are squeezed shut, but you can see the tears still pouring down her face, and her bottom lip is quivering in fear. She also has a small cut on her forehead, but the blood surrounding it is dried.

Weak sobs escape her lips, but it’s obvious that she’s attempting to keep quiet.

"Hello, darling," he smiles at her sweetly, bringing her face up so that it’s side by side to his. This way they’re both facing me. It makes me want to look away but I can’t bear to. "What’s your name again? Mandy?"

"M…" her teeth are chattering so much that she can barely get the words out, "M… M-Mindy."

"Ah, yes. Mindy." he nods.

The strangest thing about him is his facial expressions. It’s like he’s constantly mocking the person he’s talking to by pretending he’s interested or that they’re in a different situation. Right now he looks thoughtful, thinking over the name in his head as though he actually cares.

"Do you think you can help me, Mindy?"

She doesn’t respond, and just lets out a loud wail when he brings the knife up into her view. He smiles again at the sound of her terror, and it causes me to shiver.

"See that boy over there?" he lazily points the knife in my direction. When she doesn’t respond he grips her hair tighter. Her face scrunches up in pain and she attempts to nod quickly. It seems to satisfy him. "You and I are going to find out his name."

She continues to sob, and I know that this isn’t going to end well.

In scary movies it always seems so unrealistic when one character is being forced to watch another character in pain. Those scenes would usually annoy me. If this were a movie that I was watching, I’d be yelling ‘ _Come on! Just fucking talk, you dumb ass!_ ' at the television screen, but I can't make my brain form words at the moment. I'm stuck just watching in horror.

It’s so different when it’s happening to you in real life.

Gavin lightly strokes her cheek with the blade of the knife, not enough pressure to puncture her skin. Just enough to scare her. It works because she cries out even louder.

"Ready to tell me your name, love?" he asks me, an innocent look plastered across his face.

You would think that somebody like this would be incapable of looking innocent. It’s obvious that he’s only pretending for the sake of continuing on his sadistic joke. He thinks all of this is funny, hurting people like this is amusing to him. But the look on his face is just pure innocence. Like he’s not here threatening to torture a woman just so that I’ll tell him my name.

It’s the first time I finally realize how terrifying Gavin really is. He doesn’t just physically abuse people. He gets into their brains and fucks with their perception as well. Twisting around their thoughts and emotions until he completely owns them.

"Shame." he says with a look of pity once I don’t respond in any way. He slowly moves the knife away from her cheek, and then plunges it into her arm.

She lets out the loudest scream I’ve ever heard a person make, and her eyes pop open in agony and pain. Gavin tilts his head back and that creepy grin spreads across his lips again. Like he’s getting some kind of sick pleasure out of hearing her cries.

"Like music to my ears." he confirms my suspicions.

My eyes are just wide in panic and fear, and I open and close my mouth a few times. I can’t bring myself to speak. I want so badly to say something… _anything_. Just to bring a chance to ending this woman’s suffering.

"Still nothing?" Gavin asks me, and then rolls his eyes. He thinks I’m just being stubborn. He’s obviously used to seeing people in pain since he’s the one inflicting it, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen something so terrifying and graphic in person.

This isn’t a movie. It’s not some cheesy gore film that teenagers pay to see in their local cineplexes. This is happening right in front of me, and it’s so unbelievably real that I want to just scream out. Gavin knows what he’s doing. He’s not just hurting one person. As he physically tortures her, he’s mentally torturing me.

He still has the knife in her arm, and instead of pulling it out like I thought he was going to, he twists it into her skin. Her screams intensify and I don’t know how I haven’t gone deaf yet.

"S-Stop!" I cry out weakly. I can’t fathom how I even managed to say that much, and you can barely hear it over the echoing cries.

Gavin looks as though he’s proud of me. Like I’m his son that just got a good mark on his report card. He smiles sweetly, and I don’t see any hint of evil cruelty in it anymore.

"Ah, there you go, love. Put those vocal chords to good use." he says to me with a grin, then gestures to the woman screaming in pain, "This bitch is wearing her’s out."

"Just please stop!" I yell, my voice finding it’s strength and becoming louder as I continue.

"Well, I would…" he rips the knife out of her and stabs it into her chest in one clean motion, his facial expression not changing in the slightest. I can still hear his voice over the sounds she’s making, "But you still haven’t told me your name yet."

I don’t hesitate this time, “It’s Michael!”

He snickers, and takes the knife out of her. Her arm and chest are covered with her own blood, as is the knife he’s still currently holding.

"Game over." he murmurs. He says it quietly, and it brings my attention to the fact that the woman has stopped screaming.

He releases his hold on her hair, and she drops back down face first onto the cold concrete floor. She doesn’t try to catch herself or flinch at the impact. It’s only when she lays there in a immotile heap, unmoving and completely silent that I realize that she’s dead.

Gavin walks back over and crouches down in front of me. He brings his face so close to mine that our noses are less than a few inches a part.

"Hello…" he smiles softly, looking directly into my eyes, and grazing my cheek gently with the end of the still bloody knife, "…Michael."


	2. Chapter 2

 

_In every life we have some trouble_ **  
** _But when you worry you make it double **  
**Don’t worry, be happy_

He doesn’t kill me.

Doesn’t even harm me in any way. Not even a paper-cut.

I don’t know why, but it feels worse in a way.

I haven’t left this room yet, my hands still chained to the pipe. The room is still dark and damp. I can feel myself slowly going stir-crazy at the feeling of being in one place for so long.

The only company I get is when Gavin comes back. But he’s never alone, always dragging a body or screaming person behind him. Sometimes he’ll talk to me as he murders them, sometimes he completely ignores me. It’s a cycle, and not one that I’m enjoying.

I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. There’s nothing to indicate time, not even a window to tell me if it’s night or day.

Every time he comes in I’ll ask him, but the answer is always different.

"A few hours," he’ll murmur while easily dragging an unconscious body into the room.

"Three weeks," he’ll answer as he covers the shrieking woman’s mouth with his hand.

"Nine days."

"Eighteen hours."

"Four months."

He continues, making up the numbers and never responding when I say I don’t believe him. After all, I have no idea if he’s ever telling the truth. I don’t know how long I’ve been down here.

Sometimes he leaves and it feels like he comes back seconds later, sometimes days. I easily could have been down here for months, days, or even just hours. The only way I can attempt to count the days is by how often he carries in a murder. But that doesn’t help, because it’s like a constant never-ending flow of victims.

I can’t count how many times I’ve been forced to watch him ruthlessly murder an innocent person.

Seeing their blood drip from his fingertips, or the sinister smile on his face as their screams die out and their bodies become limp.

If he kills one person a day in this room, then I might have been down here for years.

It just serves in making me lose my sanity. I can practically feel my own thinking process bending and practically snapping in two.

He knows what he’s doing, and he’s good at it.

 

_

 

Gavin Free is poison.

The kind that you accidentally take a large swig of and think ‘ _I’ve done something horrible_ ’, just moments before you feel the liquid burning your insides and disintegrating them.

His mind works in odd and unique ways, and it scares me sometimes. The way he’ll just stare down at a body he’s destroyed using only a screwdriver, just basking in the feel of a fresh kill.

I’m always sure that I’m going to be next. He’ll turn around, walk over to me, and just end it. But it never happens.

I think the suspense is the worst part. Turning away from the body, he’ll look me straight in the eyes as though he’s studying me and my reactions. I don’t dare speak, and neither does he. It only ends when he snickers and rolls his eyes, amused, and then leaves.

Why is he keeping me here for so long? Why doesn’t he just kill me and get it over with?

It’s surprising how fast I get used to it.

It’s not so horrifying when he drags an unconscious person into a room and ironically tells me to ‘watch them’, or when I hear screams of pain from another room or area in this place.

It loses it’s shock appeal fast and soon just becomes the norm.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here, where I am, what’s going to happen, or if anybody’s even looking for me. But there’s something so consistent about all of it. I know the routine, I watch and observe almost as much as Gavin does.

He has such a definite way of doing things.

It’s like he can read his victims so perfectly and knows which ways dragging out their particular death will be most satisfying. Sometimes it’s as easy to read as their clothing, the way they beg for their life, or how they cry. But sometimes it’s deeper than that, and once I notice them I can see him searching for those particular things too.

Like how fast it takes them to break under the pressure of a knife, how much they can handle emotionally before going completely insane, or what things they’ll cry out in their final moments.

It’s a game, and Gavin is winning.

But I’m scared that I’ve started playing too. I don’t enjoy it, and if given the opportunity I’d help all of those innocent people I see murdered. I wonder if I’m in too deep, and if knowing these simple things about how Gavin Free operates will affect my view and perception.

After all, that’s what he does best. Maybe this is all part of his plan. Maybe I had some kind of particular quirk or identifier that made this  _my_  fate. He wants me to slowly go crazy and question my every thought before finally finishing me off.

I wouldn’t put it past him.

 

_

 

I don’t know how it’s happened, but I got out.

I pant and gasp for air but I know I can’t stop now. The hallway is dark and tiny, smells of death and fear.

I can hear Gavin walking behind me, not rushing to catch up to me, or even slightly worried that I’ll get out. It doesn’t waver my determination though.

I haven’t come across any doors yet other than the few I peeked into quickly. Just regular rooms you’d find in a regular home, like a bathroom, kitchen, and living room. I don’t take the time to study them because Gavin continues to steadily walk behind me.

"You’re wasting your time, love." he calls out.

I don’t pay any attention to it, and continue until I reach another door. It’s simple and wooden, a lot like all of the rest I’ve opened.

"You’re not gonna want to go in there." he warns.

I turn the handle and throw the door open, stumbling in a little because I figured it would be more difficult to push in.

The sound of muffled screaming meets my ears, and I see two separate people, tied up in the room with duct tape covering their mouths. They’re covered in wet blood and the fear on their faces is real. They look desperate, a small twinkle of hope in their eyes when they see me standing there looking shocked. They panic, stumbling for attention and help.

The room is filled with other things. Bodies that aren’t moving, pieces of people, strips of clothing, and numerous tools. All are covered in blood and they look cold to the touch.

My gasp for air is immediate and I know I must look completely horrified right now. This room is nothing like the one I’m staying in.

I hear Gavin let out an annoyed and dramatic sigh as he finally stands behind me, “I told you, you wouldn’t want to go in there.”

When the few living people inside see Gavin, the hope melts away from their eyes and is replaced with abhorrence and panic. They flinch or try to back themselves away, as though they want to be as far from him as possible.

He twists his arm around my head to cover my mouth with one hand, as he closes the door with the other.

I finally scream, letting out all of my anxiety and trepidation with it. It’s muffled by his hand, much like how those peoples’ were by the tape covering their mouths.

I fight, kicking my arms and legs with all of my might to get away from him. But it’s futile because he continues to drag me down the hallway, back the way we came.

There’s something terrifying about finally seeing all of the work a serial killer does. I’m sure that room has looked worse than that before, and maybe I was actually lucky to see it then. Maybe this is the toned down version of what it usually looks like. I’ll never know, because hopefully I’ll never have to see it again.

The entire time I’ve been here, I assumed that he’s done all of the murders in the room I’m residing in. Little did I know that it was a small minority compared to that. I want to vomit when I realize that these may not be the only rooms.

He kicks open the door to the usual room I stay in and tosses me on the ground.

The concrete that meets my head is painful and makes the room spin slightly. It continues to disorient me, but I’m able to make out Gavin grabbing a knife from the table.

"I-I’m sorry!" I blurt out, but I have no idea if it was whispered or yelled.

He doesn’t listen anyways, and marches over to me with it, sitting on the floor next to me, then roughly pulls me up close to him by the collar of my shirt. He holds up the knife and I almost hit it neck first, but he stops that from happening.

I gulp, looking into his livid eyes.

"You’re making it very hard to not pierce this knife deep into your throat, Michael." he states, his voice strong and powerful. It’s echoes through my ears, but I don’t know if that’s because of the minor head injury I’ve just received.

"S…S-Sorry." I repeat, trying to keep the panic from my voice, but failing ruthlessly.

He smirks, amused at my fear and finally lets go of my shirt. I fall back onto the ground, wincing at the contact once again. It doesn’t hurt so much this time, but it succeeds in making my vision blurry.

"I’ve been good to you, Michael," he murmurs, "I really have.  _Don’t_  push my patience.”

The door doesn’t slam closed when he leaves like I thought it would. The only sound I hear before I lose consciousness is the faint whistling that gets quieter as he walks further down the hall.

 

_

 

He doesn’t come back for a long time. I spend my days closing my eyes and resting my head against the cool concrete, letting it soothe my still pain filled head.

I try to erase the sight of that room out of my eyes.

The sound of their screams from my ears.

Everything that Gavin has ever done from my entire brain.

It doesn’t work, and I’m not surprised.

 

_

 

The feeling underneath my head isn’t solid and hard like the concrete usually is.

I open my eyes a little but I hear gentle shushing noises, and the faint feeling of fingers against my eyelids.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers, and against my better judgement, I listen and allow myself to relax again.

His hands pets my hair gently, and I feel him press a kiss to my temple.

"I’m sorry I got so mad at you before. Let my anger get the better of me for a moment. Didn’t mean to scare you."

I try to listen to him, but his hushed whispers and hands stroking my hair is leading me back into the realm of sleep.

I don’t fight it, because I trust him.

 

_

 

Every once in a while he’ll come in and bring me food. Something simple like a burger from a fast food restaurant, but I’m always so hungry that I scarf in down in a matter of seconds.

He sits against the wall, watching me eat with an amused look on his face.

"Why are you always so hungry?"

"Because you’re starving me, you sick bastard." I mutter between bites.

He looks confused and almost regretful for a moment, “Have I been? I didn’t even realize. If you want I’ll give you access to the kitchen around here. Bathroom too, maybe even the living room.”

I don’t know if he’s being honest and genuine, or if this is all part of some ploy he’s devising. But he hasn’t shown any signs of being a sinister villain that plots mischief and plans his murders out like that.

"There’s a kitchen here?" I question, raising an eyebrow.

I already know about it since I’ve seen it while looking through the rooms during my attempt to escape. But I thought that was just my mind playing tricks on me. Attempting to hide the horrors that room contained by displaying things that rooms normally contained.

"Yeah," he nods, "A bunch of rooms. Like a house."

"Why?"

"Because I live here."

"No, I mean why would you let me use them and walk around freely?"

"Because I like you, Michael. It’ll be fun. We can play video games together, you can eat whenever you want, and wash all of that dried blood off yourself."

"Yeah…" I whisper hesitantly, "Okay."

He smiles while standing up, “Don’t be so cautious, this isn’t some crazy idea to back stab you or anything. If I wanted you dead, you’d be there already.”

Before he leaves the room, he picks up a knife off the floor and shoves it into his pocket, whistling the usual song as he leaves.

He didn’t re-handcuff me before he left, and I know that it wasn’t an accident or a mistake on his part.

I’d noticed the knife lying between us before, but I didn’t even think to use it. The idea didn’t even occur to me, and I wonder how much that says about my current mental state.

 

_

 

He shows me to each individual room, rubbing my back gently when we pass _that_ room.

Each one I recognize as the ones we passed during my failed escape. They all look the same as they did then.

My hands aren’t tied or bonded in anyway. I’m walking around, completely free of any chains or ropes. He holds my hand, but not in a restricting way that warns me to behave. It’s gentle, any pressure against my fingers is soft and welcoming.

It feels more like he’s my boyfriend giving me a tour of his house, rather than a murderer. He talks happily about how I can watch television, make myself food, and do basically whatever I want. It’s the most freedom I’ve had since I’ve come here.

I’m slightly hesitant, but I trust him.

The last place we go to is the kitchen. It’s big and clean, a lot like the other rooms that aren’t used for murder.

I walk around the kitchen island, which has bar stools pressed up to one side of it. Gavin stays where he was, watching me observe the place.

There’s a big fridge, a stove, microwave, cupboards. Just regular things you’d expect to see. Nothing out of the ordinary. No human organs on a plate or decapitated heads hanging from the ceiling.

It’s slightly refreshing and feels almost normal.

I notice the knives on the counter top along with other eating utensils. It’s even within my reach and it would be so easy to just grab it and attack him. To sink that knife into his flesh like he’s done so many countless times to others. To escape from this place as he bleeds out and dies on the kitchen floor.

The thought doesn’t even cross my mind.

"Do you like it?" he whispers, walking around the island and behind me.

"Yeah." I nod, "It’s nice."

"Good."

I shiver when I feel his lips softly brush against the back of my neck. He chuckles at my response and doesn’t stop.

My brain is buzzing and screaming at me to stop him. Sending out reminders that this is Gavin Free, the person who you’ve watched murder innocent people for his own enjoyment.

I want to get away from all of this but every nerve in my body is telling me how right it feels.

It’s like when you’re just a child and you’re deciding if stealing one more cookie from the jar is a good idea or not. You may get scolded later, but the sweet taste of that treat is so worth it at the moment.

But maybe I’m not scared of the scolding. Maybe the fact that it’s so wrong, is what makes it feel so right. What’s that old saying?  _The forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest_  or some shit?

I finally snap out of my thoughts when I feel him smirk against my neck.

I can’t let this go on. I know what kind of person Gavin is, and I’m playing right into his hands. I’m not going to allow myself to become another one of his victims.

His lips are rough, and adamant. I know that tomorrow my neck will be a colorful display of bruises and hickies, decorating my neck and acting as proof toward my weakness and incapability.

I turn around to face him, and it results in him covering my lips with his own. Dominating and overpowering me as though he owns me. I don’t have any control over my own body and kiss back without even thinking about it.

The feel of his soft and warm lips don’t match his cruel and cold personality. It’s like this is a completely different side to Gavin Free that nobody knows about. The gentle but still controlling side that makes him seem more human than monster.

No matter how much I fight with myself I’m still making out with him and allowing this to happen. His hands roughly pull my waist closer to him. It causes my head to spin and I briefly wonder the last time I’ve been kissed like this.

"S... Stop." I mumble against his lips. It’s contradictory because I don’t stop either, trying to get as much out of this as I can before the inevitable end.

My brain finally catches up to the rest of my body and I weakly bring my hands up to his chest to push him away. He doesn’t fight it and allows himself to be moved back.

I’m out of breath and my lips feel numb, still craving that beautifully sick attention.

"What’s wrong?" he asks.

"Don’t do that."

He chuckles, “I’m not a monster, Michael. I wouldn’t do anything without your permission.” The smirk on his face tells me that he doesn’t give two shits about consent.

Gavin Free is all about manipulation.

He plays around with your thoughts, feelings, and emotions. Prying his way into your brain and slowly ripping it apart from the inside. Destroying any moral sense you might have. Making it impossible to differentiate between reality and fiction.

He  _wants_  me to  _want_  this.

But I think I already do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everybody's amazingly nice comments! I love you all! <3

 

 

_Ain’t got no place to lay your head_ **  
**_Somebody came and took your bed **  
**Don’t worry, be happy_

I flip through the channels with boredom, too tired to actually settle on anything I’m willing to stay up and watch. I’ll probably just fall asleep within a few moments anyway.

I stop pressing the buttons on the remote when I stumble onto a news channel. The woman reporting has her hair pinned back and is wearing professional clothing.

The words “More Untraceable Disappearances” is wrote across the top of the screen, and I open my eyes wide so that I can fully pay attention.

"-Victoria Saits, Tony Philpot, and Julie Winchester have all gone missing this past week. Police are still looking for any suspects or witnesses to their disappearances, but so far there is no evidence that any foul play was involved."

She continues speaking but I tune it out.

I remember these broadcasts from before.

I remember feeling guilty for the poor people that were taken away and nobody knows where they are.

I would never imagine myself being  _here_.

In this actual situation.

Sitting on a murderers couch, causally watching television.

It’s all so surreal, and sometimes I forget the reality of it all. That Gavin is a killer, and he doesn’t feel guilt for things like this. He would never sit down on the couch, watch the news, and feel bad for all of these innocent people that have gone missing.

"Poor saps." I hear Gavin say with a snicker as he sinks down next to me.

"What?" I question, his words taking me from my thoughts.

"Those poor people." he gestures towards the television, where the woman is still giving out descriptions of the missing, "They’ll never find them."

It sends an uneasy feeling towards my stomach, and I feel the urge to throw up at his uncaring and light tone.

"Why not?"

I already know the answer.

"You know why."

Sometimes being reminded helps to keep me grounded.

"They’re innocent people, Gavin." I say quietly, as though those words can change anything that he’s done to them.

"Everybody’s a monster, Michael." he murmurs, while resting his head on my shoulder, "You just aren’t looking hard enough."

_

 

That tune Gavin whistles always stuck with me.

Constantly ringing through my head as though it was permanently stitched in. The rise and fall of it, even the sharp intake of air he’d take every few moments.

He wouldn’t  _just_ whistle while murdering somebody. Sometimes it was while he was bringing me food, or when we were playing video games together. There was never a long quiet moment between us because he would fill the air with that clear high-pitched tune.

I’m not sure what it’s purpose was. The song sends shivers down my back sometimes, and it’ll cause me to flinch.

But you eventually get used to it. A lot like how you get used to Gavin and his murderous ways. The song soothes me sometimes, helping me relax and forget about the fact that he’s currently driving a knife through some man’s head a mere six feet away from me.

It’s helps me fall asleep when my head is in his lap, and his fingers are tangled in my hair. Softly caressing my locks with one hand, lulling me to sleep with his temperate whistling.

Sometimes I would peek my eyes open and see him staring down at me, studying my face and features with a thoughtful and deep look on his face.

None of those sinister smiles or wicked looks in his eyes. Not admiring. Just attentive and musing.

_

 

It was only once that I’d seen somebody escape _that room_. I’d decided I never wanted to even go close to that door ever again considering what I found in there last time.

I’d just been in the kitchen, sitting on one of the stools and eating some lunch when it happened.

I heard the screaming first, and usually that noise wouldn’t even make me bat an eye. I was used to hearing these things, especially if Gavin wasn’t in the room with me, much like now.

I only looked up when it sounded like it was getting closer to me, and the faint footsteps that were so much quieter than Gavin’s, were getting louder and louder as time progressed.

The door opens and slams into the wall, my eyes are wide with shock and alarm when I see her.

Just a simple girl, it doesn’t look like she was recently tortured due to the fact that the blood covering parts of her body is dried. But her messy and tangled hair, the dark circles under her eyes, and the fear on her face is enough to tell me that she’s been here long enough.

I have no idea how to react, and neither does she. It’s obvious she was looking for a way out, but she was idiotic to do so while screaming at the top of her lungs. I can only assume she didn’t expect to see a person other than Gavin on her quest to get out of here.

She snaps out of it faster than I do, and before I can even open my mouth she grabs the knife off of the kitchen counter. Out of habit I put my hands up near my chest, palms facing her, in an effort to show surrender.

Tears are streaking down her face as she holds the knife at arms length towards me. Her breathing is uneven and shallow, and she’s shaking.

But as I watch the emotions that are so obviously shown through her eyes and face, I know that she won’t do anything. She wouldn’t stab another person or harm them even if it meant escaping this place. She and I are a lot a like.

"I’m not like him." I say, trying to keep my voice as soothing as possible, "I’m like you."

She shakes her head slowly, not believing me.

That’s the last thing she does before Gavin steps into the door frame and forcibly thrusts his own knife into her torso. I see her eyes widen in horror and pain before she almost drops to the ground. Gavin grabs her by the neck to keep her steady and on her feet. His head nustled into the area between her neck and shoulders, watching her profile for the reaction.

He looks away only to smile kindly at me, “Sorry about that, Michael. Carry on with your lunch.”

He drags her away, but she’s no longer fighting. The life dripping from her body along with the blood.

_

 

Although time has no affect on me here, I know that I’ve been down here a long time. Whether it be weeks, months, or years. But my relationship with Gavin has grown into something deeper within that time.

I don’t flinch when his fingers graze my cheek. I don’t fear for my life when I see a bloody knife in his hand as he walks towards me. I don’t ask him to stop or push him away when he kisses me roughly.

Without even realizing it I’ve fallen into his hands, and I’m comfortable within them.

He’s an odd person. Other than the sadistic side, he’s still a human being. Seeing that human side of him is the only thing that keeps me sane.

We’ll be sitting on the couch playing video games, laughing as he dies over and over again. Asking me stupid rhetorical questions that hold no value. Making up dumb words just to annoy me and giggling when he succeeds.

I’ll wake up in the middle of the night to see that we’ve fallen asleep on the couch while watching a movie. The dim light of the television being the only thing that illuminates the room.

My head is resting on his chest, and his arms are holding me close to him. He’s warm and comfortable, I don’t want to move.

I look up at his face to see that he’s sleeping.

I’ve never seen Gavin sleep before. I’d assumed he was just some kind of insomniac that spent all of his nights murdering and kidnapping people.

He looks so peaceful. You would never be able to look at him now and imagine him grinning evilly as he strangles a sobbing man to death, his face covered in blood.

He shifts in his sleep, pulling me closer to him, and then only relaxing again once my head is back on his chest.

I close my eyes and don’t think about the consequences of this. I concentrate on how nice to feels to be so close to him, to hear his heartbeat, and the soft steady pattern of his breathing.

Because Gavin Free is human.

And sometimes it’s the only pure trait about him.

_

 

It’s an odd transition. One that I don’t even realize is happening.

I don’t notice how much everything has changed, and how well I’ve adjusted to it. But even as it’s progressing, I’m completely blind to it all.

As though Gavin has shaded my vision. I still see the murder, death, torture, and panic. I know he’s a serial killer who feels no regret or remorse for the things he’s done. But it doesn’t matter to me anymore.

There’s this tiny nagging feeling in the back of my brain that’s screaming at me to care, but I shrug it off without even thinking about it.

I’m happy.

I like it here.

Didn’t I promise myself that this wouldn’t happen? Didn’t I refuse to let myself be manipulated by this crazy psycho? Has it already happened? Did Gavin purposely do this to me, or have I done it to myself.

But when he pushes me up against a wall, roughly connecting our mouths with his hands on my sides, it’s all irrelevant.

I moan into his mouth as he moves away from my lips and towards my neck, making sure that no area goes unmarked. The feeling of his teeth grazing my skin or gently biting just makes me want him even more.

I want Gavin Free.

Even as we move to his bedroom, which is one of the rooms in this place that I haven’t been yet. Even as clothes start to disappear and I feel every inch of my body being caressed and loved by his gentle hands and deep breaths. It’s still just him that I want.

I don’t think about him being a murderer, the bodies, the death, the whistling, or the constant screams of pain. I just think of him.

He’s not manipulating me into wanting this. Because _I’m_  the one kissing him back. _I’m_  the one that’s digging my nails into his flesh.  _I’m_  the one who wants this.

And when he utters the words, “I love you” into my ear, his voice nothing more than a gentle whisper that I can hardly focus on due to the constant buzz of pleasure that overtakes my senses,

I’m the one who murmurs the words “I love you too.”

_

 

"Why do you do it?" I question.

"Do what?"

I roll my eyes, “ _This_.”

"What?" he looks me in the eyes with a playful sneer, "Murder? Torture? Crime? Death?"

His eyes shine bright with encouragement and delight. As though he’s been practically waiting for this because it gives him the opportunity to remind me of what he does.

As if I could ever forget.

"All of the above." I mutter.

He turns to me, and the motion causes me to do the same. His eyes no longer hold that childish facade, and now they seem almost annoyed. Yet also concentrated. They bore deep into mine like he’s trying to communicate with me telepathically.

"Don’t you feel it too, Michael?" he starts, his voice smooth and knowing, "That sickness that courses through your veins when you see other people? Just living their happy meaningless lives? Going on about their own business as though everything is fine?

"Everybody is so damn loud. A never ending constant stream of talking, laughing, crying, and  _breathing_. Everybody acts like it’s okay. They continue on as though life is some fairy tale that’s going to hand them whatever they want. Even those that work and fight everyday for their jobs and paychecks. They’re all the same, and they’re all just as loud as the rest.”

I let the silence settle in the air after he finishes, mainly because I’m still trying to register how that explanation makes me feel or if it even makes sense at all.

"So is that why you do it? To stop the noise?"

"No." he relaxes back into his seat, "You have so much to learn, Michael. People like us are different than them."

"I’m not like you."

He smirks without humor and looks away.

"You’re  _just_  like me.”

I try my best to ignore that comment and continue on with the subject at hand.

"You know how on that show Dateline they do specials on murderers and stuff?" I ask.

"Yeah," he responds, a grin on his face, "Usually when they’re caught and his victim escapes or whatever."

I have the feeling that Gavin’s face is never going to be on Dateline.

"Not my point." I state and continue, "They always do a segment on why the person became a killer or what motivated them to do it."

"Yeah, and?" he raises an eyebrow at me.

I shrug. He smirks and shakes his head with playful annoyance, he knows what I’m asking for.

"An origin story? Is that what you want?" he chuckles.

"Would be nice."

It’s quiet for a while, and he looks upwards as though internally debating on whether or not to tell me. For a few moments I think that he’s trying to come up with a believable lie, but I know Gavin well enough now.

If he was going to tell me a lie he’d already be half-way through it. He’s good at deceiving things like that. But his face looks hesitant and also serious at the same time. I know if he speaks it’s going to be the truth.

"I was just a kid." he starts off, "Just some spoiled little brat kid that had rich parents and lived in this huge house. I went to private school, wore little uniforms, and got good grades. My life was perfect and I didn’t even know it at the time."

I don’t interrupt. I’m not sure if it’s out of fear that he’ll lash out at me, or if it’s because of that look on his face as those memories of his childhood are brought back to him.

"Perfect parents, perfect house, perfect school…" he trails off, and shakes his head like he’s annoyed at that fact, "Perfect childhood."

Usually when you watch those dateline shows about murderers and psychopaths they tell you that they were abused or depressed as a child. I’d never suspect Gavin’s background story to begin with his life sounding so unbelievably amazing. It sounds like anybody would kill to have the lifestyle he had as a kid.

He’s silent then, and it seems like everything goes quiet with him. Like he’s somehow gotten the entire room to fear him and it doesn’t want to disturb him if it has to.

Maybe I’m the same way, because I don’t want to interrupt him either, even if he isn’t speaking at all.

"I was just playing in my room when I heard my parents screaming, then they came running in and slammed the door shut behind them. My father told me to get under the bed, and when I asked him why he just yelled at me to do it. So I did."

He smirks, but I can tell that there’s no humor behind it. Gavin’s the master at hiding away his emotions and covering them up with his colorful personality (for lack of better term.)

"I could see my parents feet as they were rushing around my room, finding things to bar up the door. Then the loud crash as the door was kicked open. Another pair of feet entering the room. I remember trying to keep myself calm. Humming tunes in my head in order to block out what was happening in front of me. Now I can’t even hear that particular song anymore without being reminded of that day. But I could hear my parents screams as the stranger got closer to them, and then I could see the red that splattered against the carpet. And then it wasn’t very long until I saw my own parents bodies fall to the ground next to my bed. Their faces still and covered in their own blood.”

He gulps, and his face scrunches up as though he’s in a world of pain and fear. It makes me pity the younger version of him, having to go through something that horrible and life changing at such a young age must be absolute torture.

It’s like he can see his own mother and father’s bodies in front of him again. I can’t imagine Gavin Free being a happy and innocent young boy that’s been pampered his entire life and is then forced to silently watch his own parents be violently killed.

"And if you don’t think that watching your own parents being brutally murdered right in front of your eyes is enough to psychologically fuck up a child then you’re wrong."

He stares me right in the eyes and I can see the built up emotions that he’s been hiding away ever since that tragedy destroyed his childhood. It doesn’t show on his face, only within those deep eyes of his, which is the only way to understand what he’s ever truly thinking.

"So what now?" I question, "You kill to get revenge at those people that murdered your parents? Don’t you see that you could be taking away another child’s family too?"

He rolls his eyes at me and I can almost see him mentally brushing off the comment as though it holds no depth to him. I can’t say I’m surprised.

"You don’t understand, Michael. When I was under that bed… And I saw the life draining from my own parents eyes…"

He looks away from me again, and I see his eyes staring off into the distance as the scene comes back to him. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration and I can almost pinpoint the smallest amount of fear in them.

"I liked it."


	4. Chapter 4

 

_Ain’t got no cash, ain’t got no style_ **  
** _Ain’t got no gal to make you smile **  
**But don’t worry, be happy_

It wasn’t very often that I’d see other victims that didn’t die moments after I made eye contact with them.

I was in my usual room, but not because I had to be. Sometimes I liked to just sit in the darkness, and remember what it was like when I first came here.

It was so quiet and when I close my eyes everything is black and pleasant. The feeling of sleep seeps into my brain and I’m about to doze off when I hear it. The screaming and banging noises.

I open my eyes and cock an eyebrow at the door, expecting Gavin to come in soon with another victim. A particularly loud victim, at that.

It gets louder and I assume it’s because they’re getting closer to my room.

My suspicions are confirmed when the door bursts open and Gavin is holding a woman that is going completely crazy in his arms.

I can’t make out her facial features or clothes because the lightening in here is so bad, but I can see the warmth in Gavin’s eyes as he notices me.

"Hi, Michael," he smiles happily, continuing to bring the woman into the corner next to me, "What are you doing in here?"

I shrug, trying to block out the horrified screaming and focus on Gavin’s words. She must be in shock or panic, because she won’t stop fighting. Her limbs flailing around ruthlessly in an attempt to get away.

"Help me tie her up, love?" he asks, sweetly.

I roll my eyes at his attempt to seem innocent, but I nod anyways. He stands up to get some rope and handcuffs from the table across the room, and I sit there with her.

I feel bad for her. I know what it’s like to be in this situation.

I attempt to hold her arms to her chest, but she continues to fight against me, screaming into my face and refusing to give up.

"She’s a fighter, eh?" he snickers from across the room, "Those are always the best kind."

I was a fighter once too.

I didn’t try to attack Gavin or retaliate against him when we first met, but I still fought. I did everything I could not to become putty in his hands. Thinking back on it now, that window doesn’t seem very wide. I may have only refused during the first few days, if not less.

I don’t like to think that I’d do anything Gavin says. I’m not a physcopath like him. I’m a victim. I’m like this girl.

But right now  _I’m_  the one holding her down and keeping her from escaping death.

I feel her arm wiggling out of my grasp, and without hesitation she reaches up and punches me directly in the face.

I let go of her immediately, but my hand doesn’t go to cover my nose. I’m sure it’s bleeding, and the pain flowing through it brings tears to my eyes. But that’s not where my hand goes.

I grab the knife off the floor next to me and without even thinking I hold it to her and thrust it unforgivingly into her neck.

It sinks into her flesh before I can process what I’ve done.

Everything goes silent for those few moments. Everything is numb to my ears and eyes. I don’t hear or see anything. I just feel the rush of having revenge at this woman for hurting me.

But it’s more than that. It’s more than just revenge. It’s feeling what Gavin feels when he murders somebody. That euphoric feeling that sinks into your body and fills you up from your toes to the top of your head.

Then everything is loud again.

The knife penetrates her throat, her screaming turns into desperate half breaths for air and salvation, and the aderline pumping through my veins is indescrible.

I want to cry out, to scream, or run away. Just to do  _something_ that will show how much I didn’t want to do this. I’m not like Gavin.

The tears continuously drip down my face, they don’t stop. It blurs my vision and I want to pass out. But I pull the knife from her, and grip it tightly.

I hold my other hand to her neck, not really sure what I’m doing anymore. Blood leaks through my fingers and I feel like I can’t get enough air.

She tries to cough and only blood spills through her lips, making her screams and cries sound gurgled and broken.

Gavin sits there on his knees, watching my face with wide eyes as I uncontrollably try to catch my breath. I just murdered her. This innocent person whose name I don’t even know. I don’t look at him so I can’t attempt to read his eyes and figure out his thoughts.

I didn’t even notice him coming back over to this side of the room and sitting down across from me on the other side of her body.

She stops panicking, her breathing getting slow, her eyes closing on their own accord, and the life slipping from her body.

The only sounds in the room are my grunts and cries of anger, frustration, horror, agony, and fear of my own self. My breathing is uneven and shallow, my cries get louder.

Gavin’s response is immediate, he comes over to me and takes me in his arms.

I hardly register it, but I do take in the scent of him and the warmth that spreads throughout my body at being close to him. It helps relax me on the inside, but on the outside I’m still a complete mess.

"Shh, it’s okay, Michael." he murmurs, but I can’t stop shaking and sobbing.

I feel so weak and powerless. I just killed another person almost effortlessly. I didn’t even think about it or hesitate.

Gavin rocks us back and forth slightly in a calm and soothing motion, whispering sweet things into my ear.

"It’s going to be okay."

"I-I-I j-jus-" I stutter, but he shushes me before I can even attempt to get the next word out.

"I know. It’s alright." But it isn’t.

He wipes the tears off of my face with his blood covered hands. It doesn’t matter much, because I’m sure my own face is splattered with the red liquid much like his is.

He buries my face into his chest, letting his shirt muffle my weakening cries and words.

I revel in the feeling of having him so close to me. His presence is comforting and helps me feel better. He cradles me in his arms and faintly whistles to himself as I cry.

"It’s okay." he murmurs softly into my hair.

"No, Gavin…" I’m not sure if he can understand me through all of the heavy sobs that are wracking through my body.

"Shh… It’s okay," he continues, "It’s just the beginning."

That causes me to stop. That one sentence.

Just the beginning.

I’m momentarily confused by it.

The beginning of what?

But as I continue to cry and wail like a toddler, Gavin whispering soft reassurances into my hair. The soft and gentle feeling of being rocked and soothed like a child still so blind to the horrors of the real world but only just now seeing a glimpse, feeling it for myself and being unable to deal with the power behind it. I understand.

The beginning of the end. The beginning of a life time of death.

This used to be hell for me. Watching Gavin murder people without any sense of regret. But now _I’ve_ just murdered, and even though I’m panicky and horrified now, the feeling will pass as time continues.

As the body count piles up, my resistance to this feeling will rise. That burst of energy that you get once the knife delves deep into human flesh will overtake it. I’ll want to feel it again and again. The addiction will grow.

I’ll be just like Gavin.

Something in me snaps.

I’m blind to what happens next.

Just a blur of acting without fully thinking it through and panic. I don’t register my own movements, hardly noticing the fact that I’ve unraveled myself from Gavin’s arms. I look up at his face.

He smiles at me.

But not the one I’ve become used to. The gentle and kind smiles that somehow warms my heart whenever we’re close to one another. It’s the one I knew back when I’d first came here. The same look he gets when he’s torturing somebody and is manipulating them.

I’ve been playing this game of his the entire time. I’m not sure if I’ve actually been aware of it or not.

I don’t know if I’m ever going to find out the punchline to this everlasting joke.

But there’s this knowing look in his eyes. The kind that tells me I’ve fallen right into his trap. I have been this entire time, even when I’d resist or pull away.

I can only compare it to the feeling of falling. Drifting furthur and furthur down that rabbit hole like Alice in that old children’s book. Thinking that I may never reach the end and that I’ll be stuck continuously falling forever.

But now I’ve hit rock bottom.

Everything catches up to me all at once. Hitting that metopherical ground at the end of the hole, the complete realization that I’ve murdered an innocent woman, and the final conclusion that the bloody knife, I’m still holding in my hands, is now buried deep into Gavin’s chest.

He doesn’t cry out or scream in agony. The only proof that he’s been impaled is the object that I pull out of his body as I jump out of his arms. As though seperating myself from him will change anything about what I’ve just done.

My eyes are wide in stunned shock and alarm as I watch him fall back to the ground. His body filling up with pain and becoming too weak to hold himself up properly.

But it doesn’t show on his face.

He doesn’t fight or try to retailate against me. Just continues to lay there on the cold cement floor, where the many bodies of his own victims would lay after he’s finished with them.

His body is so still, and the only movement in it is his weak breathing. The smirk is still spread across his face, but I can almost feel the energy draining from him.

The knife in my hands is still dripping blood onto the floor next to him.  _His_ blood. I try to ignore any shock or panic that’s begging to overcome me. I want to curl up into a ball and scream for the rest of my life. I drop the knife to the ground. The sound of the blade hitting the cold cement floor rings in my ears.

I kneel down next to him, taking his face in my hands. Tears drip down my cheeks faster than the blood off the knife. I try to choke back my sobs but I can’t stop myself from letting one wrack through my body and out my mouth.

One of my tears lands on Gavin’s own cheek, and he smiles at the sound of my cries.

I can’t tell if he’s actually in pain or not. The sound of his breathing is slowing down and I know that it’s soon going to reach the end. I press my lips to his in a futile effort to get as much of him as I can in these last few remaining moments.

Just a simple but strong kiss. As though I’m trying to unleash all of these strained emotions into him through his mouth. My eyes are squeezed shut and I know I’m pressing my lips so harshly to his that it will leave bruises on both of our mouths.

I don’t pull away from him completely afterwards, just resting my forehead on his and trying to control my breathing. Our lips are practically touching, and I can even feel them move as he grins.

"You’re just like me." he whispers so softly that I’m sure I wouldn’t have heard it if I wasn’t this close.

His breathing slows down, and eventually stops.

His entire body is still, and shows no signs of ever moving again. I can feel the grin slipping off of his face and soften into a neutral expression.

I squeeze my eyes together tighter, so much that all of my face scrunches up as well. A shudder runs down my back but I don’t move away from him yet. I’m not ready to see his beautiful dead face.

"No…" I murmur, "I’m not like you," my voice is cracking and it’s hard to make out through the crying. "…I’m not like you at all."

I let myself get lost in the emotions and just start screeching. I’m sobbing and wailing so loud that I’m sure I’d wince if I wasn’t so deaf to the sound of my own screams anymore.

My eyes are still closed when I pull away from his face, and grab for the knife on the floor next to him. I grab it by the blade part, completely ignoring the handle, and squeeze it so tightly that it digs into my hand and I can feel blood seeping out. I’m too numb to care.

With a bloodcurling scream as I lift the knife over my head and plunge it into Gavin’s body. I still don’t look to see exactly where I’m stabbing him, but once my own hand feels the fabric of his clothes, I know that it’s hit it’s target.

I completely lose myself. I don’t know how many times I’ve raised the knife and dug it into his body over and over again, never stopping even to let myself catch my breath.

The passage of time has no effect on me. I could have been there stabbing his dead body for seconds, minutes, or even hours. All I know is that when I open my eyes everything about him is completely unrecognizeable. His face and body is nothing but a bloody and disgusting mess.

My entire face is drenched with tears, and my hands are coated in Gavin’s blood. I drop the knife down to where it previously laid on the floor, not caring where it lands.

I bury my face into my own hands. The blood mixing with the tears and making a mess on my face.

I just sit there, the sound of my sobs echoing throughout the empty room.

I let my own feelings of remorse, regret, agony, horror, and relief overtake my body, and it feels like I’m drowning.


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

_'Cause when you worry, your face will frown_ **  
**_And that will bring everybody down **  
**So don’t worry, be happy_

Five years later.

My eyes open when I hear a persistent but faint knocking sound echoing throughout my house.

I’d learned to wake up at any hint of noise or movement and the habit’s stuck with me even after all these years.

I look over at my bedside table and the red numbers on the digital clock say “2:06AM”. It’s the only thing providing a dim amount of light, and I have to reach up to turn on my lamp.

The rub my eyes and put up on my glasses before getting out of bed. The knocking stops every few seconds and then starts up again. Other than that, the only noise is the harsh pitter-patter of raindrops outside. It must be raining hard tonight.

My house is dark and quiet, so as I walk through the rooms I flick on the light switches. I’ve lived alone for the past five years, and although it’s lonely it’s probably a good thing. It feels safer to live on my own.

My friend Lindsay has tried to act like my therapist, and is always telling me that it would be more beneficial if I had a roommate. She’s offered to let me crash with her on multiple occasions, but I just can’t do it.

I know that I’m still not completely over what happened.

I may never be.

Once I reach the front door I can see the silhouette of a person on the other side through the translucent glass. Who the fuck would be knocking on somebody’s door this early in the morning.

I hear somebody talking as soon as I open it.

"Hi!" a chipper female voice greets then immediately turns worried, "I’m  _so_ sorry, you were sleeping weren’t you?”

She has her hood up in an attempt to keep the raining from drenching her hair, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Her face is pure guilt and shame, and it makes me snicker.

She’s pretty cute. The water has caused her make-up to ruin down her face a little, and every few seconds she wipes her eyes as though she’s trying to hide it.

"It’s fine," I chuckle, "What’s wrong?"

"Are you sure? I mean… it  _is_ two in the morning. You can totally yell at me if you want!”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, “I promise, it’s okay. You don’t need to apologize.”

Her smile shows her embarrassment, “Okay, sorry.”

I don’t comment on that, “What’s the problem?”

"Well, my car broke down while I was driving back from my friends party, and my cell is totally dead. Would you mind letting me use your phone to call a taxi?" she pleads.

"Yeah, of course. Come on in." I hold open the door as the relief dances across her face.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she cries as though I’ve just offered her the world.

"Don’t mention it."

"I’m Alice Fisher," she says, putting out her hand to shake.

"Michael." I shake her hand with a warm smile, "Michael Jones."

*

I leave the room to get fully dressed as she calls for a cab out in the living room. When I walk back out she thanks me again and is about to leave to wait outside, but I insist on her waiting in here.

"Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude anymore than I already have."

"Calm down. It’s fine. Do you want some coffee?" I ask. I’m not about to let a poor girl stand out in the freezing rain this late at night all by herself. There are some real psycho’s out there.

She grins, “I’d love some.”

While I’m in the kitchen I can see her walking around my living room, curiously looking at picture frames.

If I had to guess, I’d say she’s only in her mid twenties. Probably in college but still partying with friends as though she’s in high school. Can’t say I blame her, these are supposed to be the best years of your life, right?

"No girlfriend, Michael?" she questions, and I look up to see her viewing the picture of me and my sister.

Alice isn’t exactly making any really forward advances, but she’s very slyly implying that she’s into me. It’s pretty amusing, and I don’t mind it. She’s pretty and seems nice. When I opened that door and that blush spread across her face I knew what was going through her head.

"Nah." I respond easily, hoping the topic will drop there.

"Living the bachelor life, huh? No relationships?" she continues. I want to roll my eyes at how nosy she is, but I decide to humor her anyways.

She walks into the kitchen and stands next to me as I pour the coffee into two mugs. She gratefully smiles and purposely brushes her hand against mine as she reaches for her mug. We both stand there in silence, leaning against the cupboards, for a few moments as we sip at our hot beverages.

"A few years ago… I kind of was," I finally attempt to explain, staring past her as I remember it.

"Oh?" she asks innocently, "What do you mean by kind of? Was it just physical, or-?"

"No, no…" I murmur while shaking my head, letting those memories flood back into my brain. No matter how hard I try it always comes back to  _him_. Even after all these years he still manages to manipulate my brain and fuck up my thought process. “It’s uh, it’s hard to explain.”

"Sorry." she blushes and looks away, "I didn’t mean to pry."

"It’s fine."

She continues on talking about worthless things but I don’t pay attention.

I still haven’t talked about it. The most I’ve given anybody was a police statement and the main basics. Things that could be easily assumed.

I’d spent a lot of these years trying to forget about it. Attempting to trick my mind into erasing every memory of Gavin Free from my brain and letting me live in peace.

There are still night that I wake up to my own screams, covered in sweat, and out of breath. It’s fucked me up and I don’t know if things will ever go back to normal.

But at the same time I miss it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

"I actually just recently broke up with my boyfriend," Alice comments while taking a loud sip of coffee, her flirting less than subtle.

"Oh yeah?" I act interested.

She gives a hum of confirmation, “His name was Greg. Total dick.”

"Some are."

She grins and jumps at that opening, “But not  _you_ , Michael. You’re nice, I can tell.”

I chuckle and shake my head a little, “I don’t know about that.”

"Oh please!" she scoffs playfully and rolls her eyes in the most flirtatious way possible. She even puts her hand on my arm as she talks, "A cute guy like you? I can’t imagine it."

It’s hard to stop the past memories of blood, knives, and death that re-enter my brain again. It takes another head shake to clear them away.

I smirk and take my final swig of coffee, “You’d be surprised.”

She gives me a pleasantly guilty look and then lets out a sigh, “Okay, I have a confession to make.”

"What?" I’d been expecting this. Just the way she was acting and badly hiding her smiles tells me that she’d hiding something of little importance. "Your car didn’t actually break down?"

She giggles, “No. While you left the room, I didn’t  _actually_  call a cab.”

"Why not?" I grin, even though I already know the answer.

She blushes and won’t look me directly in the eyes, but the smile she’s trying to keep off of her face tells me everything about what she’s thinking right now.

Girls are so easy sometimes.

Alice playfully musters up all of her courage with one breath, and then looks up at me. “I’m just gonna go for it.” she mutters with a ‘fuck it’ attitude.

Before I know it she’s leaning into me, wrapping her arms around my waist, and connecting her lips to mine. She really is quite forward.

I kiss her back, missing this kind of contact. She’s an alright kisser, but compared to  _him_  it’s not even noteworthy. She smiles when my hand goes to her waist, and with the other I hold the counter I’m leaning against to steady us.

You can practically hear the happiness buzzing around in her brain that I’m returning this. Probably thinking what are the chances that her car breaking down would end up turning into this.

I feel her tongue brush against my bottom lip just seconds before I plunge the knife into her shoulder.

She instantly crumbles in my arms. I don’t bother catching her and let her fall to the floor in a heap. The sound of silence that previously filled the air is now her taken over by her horrified shrieks of pain.

I stand over her, just watching as she holds her hand up to where the knife impaled her flesh. Blood is pouring out impossibly fast and I snicker at the confused and terrified look on her face.

"You really shouldn’t be making out with strangers, love." I say with false innocence, "I could have been a serial killer or something."

She’s a lot faster in finding her words than I was back then, and anger crosses her face instead of shock and fear. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?” she screams, the livid look in her eyes only succeeds in making me smirk again.

"I didn’t  _want_ to kill you in the kitchen.” I mutter, “Now I’ve got to clean this all up later.”

I bend down next to her with the knife still in my hands and gently graze it across her cheek.

I can still smell the alcohol off of her, and it would be no surprise to me if she had a few too many while at that party. She was foolish enough to drive afterwards, so it’s no surprise that she’d be stupid enough to throw herself at a random stranger she knows nothing about.

She shifts quickly in an attempt to get away from me or knock the knife out of my hands, but it only causes the blade to break skin. Blood seeps out from her flesh and stains the pretty paleness of her face with red liquid.

She lets out loud wails and sobs at the pain she’s feeling, and the words ‘ _music to my ears_ ' rings through my head.

I go to pick her up but she refuses to go silently, kicking and screaming with all of her strength.

She’s a fighter.

Those are the best kind.

"If you don’t want to do this the easy way, then I’m all for doing it the hard way." I mutter, and grab a chunk full of her hair.

She doesn’t stop her noises as I drag her by her long black hair through the kitchen and down the hallway. Blood stains the place she once lay, but I figure I’ll worry about that later. It isn’t the first time I’ve had to clean blood from the kitchen, and it probably won’t be the last.

She flails her limbs around, trying to grasp on to something, but I’m stronger than her.

I open up the basement door and switch on the light, dragging her down the stairs harshly and without sympathy.

I think about Gavin and what he’d be saying right now. Everytime I do these things he’s always in the back of my brain, and I can see that mocking smirk on his lips.

Alice’s horrified screeching helps block it out and I’m thankful for that.

We reach the bottom of the stairs and the concrete floor is cold beneath my bare feet. It’s dark, and there isn’t any source of light other that the door I left open upstairs.

"You’ll have to forgive me," I say, "I haven’t cleaned up in a while."

I flip on the light switch and everything in the room is visible.

The blood, the knives, the handcuffs, ropes, duct tape, a body, etc. Just plain boring stuff that I haven’t gotten around to upgrading or disposing of yet.

It’s difficult to go into the store and get that kind of supplies all at once without looking suspicious. I wish I knew how Gavin did it because it’d be a lot easier on me. I hate using rusty tools.

Alice finally turns to sobbing. No longer fighting against me and just starts crying. Dull. I was excited that I’d found somebody that had so much spark within them. It’s best when they fight until the very end.

It’s not very often that I’m practically  _handed_ people like this.

I didn’t plan on doing this tonight. But if somebody comes to my door, knocking and begging for help, and then doesn’t even go through with calling a cab, then I figure I’m allowed to spoil myself.

I’d already had somebody the night before. A man that I’d found hitch hiking on the side of the road late last night. He’d obviously been drunk, a very violent one at that. When he’d woken up down in the basement he tried as hard as he could to scream from underneath the duct tape keeping his mouth closed. Trying to free his hands every chance he got, but it was futile.

He didn’t stop battling for his life until it drained from his eyes. It’s a shame to see that Alice isn’t that amusing.

I didn’t even bother cleaning up the body or disposing of it yet. I figured I’d do it tomorrow just because I’m lazy and that’s always the most tiresome task.

I drag her over to the corner of the room next to a table, and I notice the tears running down her face.

"What’s wrong?" I ask mockingly, "Are you okay?"

"Please…" she whispers weakly, her eyes pleading.

I crouch down next to her. “Please what?”

"Don’t hurt me." That desperate tone to her voice makes me think that maybe this is better after all. Begging and sobbing can sometimes be just as satisfying as fighting and cursing.

"I’m not going to hurt you, darling." I reach up and brush the hair out of her face with tenderness, "I’m going to do so much more than that."

Her eyes widen and she begins bawling again, but I ignore it. Simply taking the duct tape off of the table top above us and covering her mouth with a long strip of it.

Muffled screams of pain and agony fill the room as I continue on with my usual business.

Drowning out her noises by whistling that familiar tune that will always be ingrained in my head and forever marks me as his prisoner.


End file.
